not nave acted better! Why, had you not elected them, Appius would have gone without his left hand, and each of his two feet. Ser. Out! you are dishonest! Den. Ha! Ser. What would content you! Den. A post in a hot battle! Out, you cur! Do you talk to me? Citizen. (From behind.) Down with him! he does nothing but insuit the people. (The people approach Dentatus threateningly.) (Enter Icilius suddenly.) Icil. Stand back! Who is it that says, down with Siccius Dentatus? Down with him! 'Tis what the enemy could never do; and shall we do it for them? Who uttered that dishonest word? Who uttered it, I say? Let him answer a fitter, though less worthy mate, Lucius Icilius! Citizens. Stand back, and hear Icilius! Icil. What! hav'nt I voted for the decemvirs, and do I snarl at his jests? Has he not a right to jest? the good, honest Siccius Dentatus, that, alone, at the head of the veterans, vanquished the Equi for you. Has he not a right to jest? For shame! get to your houses! The worthy Dentatus! Cheer for him, if you are Romans! Cheer for him before you go! Cheer for him, I say. (Exeunt citizens, shouting.) Den. And now, what thanks do you expect from me, Icilius? Icil. None. Den. By Jupiter, young man, had you thus stepped before me in the heat of battle, I would have cloven you down-but I'm obliged to you, Icilius—and hark you! There's a piece of furniture in the house of a friend of mine, that's called Virginius, I think you've set your heart upon-dainty enough-yet not amiss for a young man to covet. Ne'er lose your hopes! He may be brought into the mind to part with it. As to these curs, I question which I value more, their fawnings or their snarlings. But I thank you, boy-Thanks, Icilius. Icil. Thanks-to me? No, Dentatus-Icilius is the debtor. So, a fair good-morrow, noble Roman. Den. Good-morrow, boy. (Exit Icilius.) Don't lose your hopes. (Enter Virginius.) Noble Virginius, I am glad to see you! This meeting's to my wish. I have news for you-brave news. Vir. Well, your news, Dentatus-is it of Rome ? Den. More violence and wrong from these new masters of ours, our noble decemvirs-these demi-gods of the good people of Rome! No man's property is safe from them. The sena tors themselves, scared at their audacious rule, withdraw themselves to their villas, and leave us to our fate. Vir. Rome never saw such days! Den. And she'll see worse, unless I fail in my reckoning. -But how is thy daughter-the fair Virginia? I was just wishing for a daughter. Vir. A plague, you mean. Den. I am sure you should not say so. Vir. Well-had you a daughter, what would you do with her? Den. Do with her? I'd give her to Icilius. I should have been just now torn to pieces, but for his good offices. The gentle citizens, that are driven about by the decemvir's lictors like a herd of tame oxen, and with most beast-like docility, only low applauses to them in return, would have done me the kindness to knock my brains out; but the noble Icilius bearded them singly, and railed them into temper. Had I a daughter worthy of such a husband, he should have such a wife, and a patrician's dower along with her. Vir. Dentatus, Icilius is a young man whom I honor, but he has had, as thou knowest, a principal hand in helping us to our decemvirs. It may be that he is what I would gladly think him; but I must see him clearly-clearly, Dentatus. Ah! (Looking off) Here comes the youth-'tis well! Vir. Boy, Icilius! (Enter Icilius.) Thou seest this hand? It is a Roman's, boy; 'Tis sworn to liberty-It is the friend Of honor-Dost thou think so? Icil. Do I think Virginius owns that hand? Vir. Then you'll believe It has an oath deadly to tyranny, And is the foe of falsehood! by the gods, Icil. I dare, Virginius. Vir. Then take it! is it weak in thy embrace? Returns it not thy gripe? Thou wilt not hold Faster by it, than it will hold by thee! I overheard thee say, thou wast resolved To win my friendship quite. Thou canst not win And hark you, sir, At your convenient time, appoint a day Your friends and kinsmen may confer with me- SELECTION XXXII. PROCIDA MONTALBA-GUIDO-SICILIANS.-Hemans. Procida. Welcome! my noble friends, we meet in joy! Now may we bear ourselves erect, resuming The kingly port of freemen! Who shall dare, After this proof of slavery's dread recoil, To weave us chains again ?-Ye have done well. Montalba. We have done well. There needs no choral song, No shouting multitudes to blazon forth Our stern exploits. The silence of our foes Yet our task Is still but half achieved. Determined hearts, And deeds to startle earth, are yet required, To make the mighty sacrifice complete. Knowest thou that we have traitors in our councils? Proc. I know some voice in secret must have warned De Couci. And if there be such things As may to death add sharpness, yet delay The pang which gives release; if there be power Of yon avenging heaven, whose rapid shafts Mont. In our passionate blindness, We send forth curses, whose deep stings recoil Proc. Whatever fate hath of ruin Fall on his house!-What! to resign again Who should be so vile ? Alberti ?—In his eye is that which ever Shrinks from encountering mine?-But no! his race They are too deeply pledged.-There is one name more! Montalba! Guido!-Who should this man be? Mont. Why what Sicilian youth unsheathed, last night, His sword to aid our foes, and turned its edge Against his country's chiefs?-He that did this, Proc. Nay, ask thy son. Proc. My son ! What should he know of such a recreant heart? Guido. I would not wear The brand of such a name! Who but he Could warn De Couci, or devise the guilt These scrolls reveal? (Showing papers.) Hath not the traitor still To win us from our purpose? All things seem Proc. There was one Who mourned for being childless!—Let him now Mont. (Aside.) You shall be childless too! Mont. What means this, my lord? Who hath seen gladness on Montalba's mien? Proc. Why, should not all be glad who have no sons To tarnish their bright name ? Mont. I am not used To bear with mockery. Proc. Friend! By yon high heaven, I mock thee not!-'tis a proud fate, to live Alone and unallied. Oh! I could laugh to think Of the joy that riots in baronial halls, When the word comes-"A son is born!"-A son! They should say thus-" He that shall knit your brow To furrows, not of years; and bid your eye Mont. This is all idle. There are deeds to do; Proc. Why, am I not Calm as immortal justice ?-She can strike, Mont. Now this is well! I hate this Procida; for he hath won (Exeunt all but Montalba.) And mastery over bold hearts, which should have been Of wrongs like mine ?-No! for that name-his country- But there's dark joy in this!—and fate hath barred SCENE 2-Hall of a Public building.-Procida, Montalba, Procida. The morn lowered darkly, but the sun hath now, With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds Burst forth, as if impatient to behold This, our high triumph.-Lead the prisoner in. (Raimond is brought in fettered and guarded.) Raimond. I arraign You, before whom I stand, of darker guilt, In the bright face of heaven; and your own hearts Have taken the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink From the too-searching light.-Why, what hath wrought |